If Dawn Brings Justice
by Dicta Lumen
Summary: Follows Maiev and Illidan's centuries in the Barrow Deeps. Both driven by infinite rage, both prisoner to their actions during the War of the Ancients, yet both seem to be... enjoying it.
1. Chapter 1

Sweating and with strained muscles, the night elf brought the glaive up to bear before her. The mid-day light bounced off the circle's three blades; one such ray caught the elf's eye. She adjusted her grip more surely on the weapon, noticing the dashes of green and bits of grass clinging to the blade's edge. A low growl escaped her lavender lips and the last impediments to her bubbling anger gave way to full rage. Too many times had her glaive met the field beyond her target and too few the training leathers of her sparring partner.

He had not always donned the leathers, but had quickly found them after, blind with anger, she could not stay her hand in an attack. Swallowed by her fury, the weapon had accidentally slipped a fraction of an inch in her palm, creating a small cut on the upper shoulder of the Keeper. From then on, she did her best to be careful but found that the hate within her made her reckless at times. And when her blows more or less found their mark, she reigned in her temper only as much as the prevention of serious danger allowed.

"Again," she roared, wiping a stray violet strand behind her long, pointed ear. Clothed in the weighty armor that had become her signature for the fear it spurred in her rivals, the Watchers' most dedicated leader brushed aside her cape and barked the order to her companion. "Now, Califax!"

"Maiev, I must protest," the Keeper of the Grove started. Tired himself, he pawed the terrain beneath with an aching hoof. "We have been at this practice since the sun's rise. Does your kind no longer grow weary in day light?"

Maiev snorted in derision, batting away his question with an errant wave of her hand. "Are you no longer the _night_ elves?" he persisted.

"Enough!" She snapped. Pain and fatigue had eaten away at her patience for hours. Her body had grown accustomed to the rigorous training schedule she afforded it but still the day wore away at her more quickly than she would have liked. Always pushing herself, a singular drive to train, to improve and be a better hunter—killer even—kept Shadowsong at the task long after her fellow Watchers had taken to bed.

"You know why we spar, even at this bright hour. Now, _again_." She said the last with added firmness, raising again the glaive she had dropped in exasperation at his pause.

"Humor me, priestess."

Maiev bit back her rebuttal, knowing that a display of offence at the title would only prolong the recess further. Although she no longer wore the robes of the acolytes of the Goddess Elune, that did not prevent Califax from addressing her as such. She had left the simple unassuming robes, and the mantle 'priestess,' in her past.

"Because, Keeper, our enemies train in daylight. They grow stronger while we lay comfortably in our beds. They know our weaknesses and so we must eliminate every last one, until none exist and we alone stand ready. I say once more, now, Califax." When he did not raise his weapon, a mace she had requested with the intention of perfecting counters to its attacks, harsher tones found her voice. "That is an order, Keeper."

"Very well." Reluctant still, the centaur aligned his hooves, bowing deeply to show his respect before beginning their match. Maiev returned the gesture quickly but gripped her glaive more securely. She would not let her weariness way down the weapon. When her opponent gave ground to the barrage of her attacks, she wanted it to stem from her superior skill and not a fear of her lack of control. As before every bout, she mentally combed a list of opening moves to upend her rival and escape the bite of his mace.

Across the field, Califax tightened, constricting his hind legs into a coil prepared to spring. His coat, already wet with sweat, rippled with the pressure his legs exerted. And then, without thought and relying solely on instinct, the centaur rushed the heavily-clad night elf with full force and ferocity. With the grace and agility natural to her race, Maiev closed the distance between them in long, nimble leaps.

Deep in the Barrows under the glaring sun, their blades met, sending echoes of metal tasting metal reverberating off the trees surrounding them and further into the forest. Califax swung his mace in an arc, tracing a horizontal line across the elf's body. Anticipating the attack, Maiev dropped into a low crouch at the creature's side, letting the weapon glide mere inches over her. With a barely managed and fatigued grunt, she pushed the spinning glaive toward the exposed knees in front of her. Califax quickly changed his weapon's trajectory, sending the mace down to intervene with Maiev's, blocking the steel's close encounter with his flesh.

Snarling at her failed attempt, she pushed the blade with renewed force against that of her adversary's. The two stood locked, opponents of near equal strength. Perspiration lining their faces, each resisted the urge to draw upon their magical gifts; a victory here would come through the exertion of physical might alone. As Maiev set her feet deeper into the soil, a burning vehemence ignited from within her and slowly—unseen yet by the centaur—the elf's hold on her weapon began to slip.

((A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. I'll have the next section up soon))


	2. Chapter 2

Beneath the rolling hills of the Barrows and in the shadow of Mount Hyjal, criminals of the night elves' nation learned just how lengthy the kaldorei memory was. There, inmates wallowed in unending darkness and suffered whatever dehumanizing treatment the Watchers chose. Their leader, priestess and assassin Maiev Shadowsong, ruled the prison with an ever-burning sense of vengeance. She missed no opportunity to impart justice on those perceived guilty; indeed with that, she was quite giving.

Far below the lush, rolling fields and dense, green forests of Azeroth, an exhausted Maiev descended the stairs into the underground jail, her junior officer Califax in tow. Stopping short of the first gates before the prison cells began, she removed her helm and nodded to the saluting guards as she passed. One of the sentries, younger than Maiev but nevertheless bearing the signets of rank, left the line of her peers and fell into step with their leader.

"How was this morning's training, Captain?"

"Just fine, Lieutenant." Shadowsong walked brusquely through the next pair of gates and stopped short, taking the scroll Lieutenant Naisha had proffered from inside her cape. She quickly scanned the day's report, noting the minor disturbances some prisoners attempted. "Nothing of significance from him for today?"

"Nothing to note, Captain."

Maiev paused a moment mid-step and turned to face the younger officer fully. Resisting the urge to release a sigh of exasperation that would be wholly unbecoming of an officer, she narrowed her brow in vexation. She had been an officer for millennia and a prudent presence for much longer. For her, the smallest visual cues sent the greatest message.

"Lieutenant, _everything _he does is of note," Maiev pressed. "He is cunning and he is evil and he will use his full faculties in whatever manner possible to kill you. Never forget that." Spinning on her heel, she resumed her course down the passage and continued without a backward glance. "He certainly won't."

She kept her tone clipped, as was custom for military officers of a certain rank but could not keep her hatred for the prisoner wholly hidden. Mere mention of his name brought her worst memories racing back from her nightmares. No amount of punishment, no matter how cruel, could erase images of her brother, Jarod- sweet and naïve in his newfound leadership- laying half dead and comatose after an encounter with… _him_.

Naisha had yet to respond, likely accustomed to the captain's constant warnings. No matter. Each time the Captain said them she felt they were truer than the last. He was dangerous and she reveled in the day family ties and school-girl crushes no longer stayed her hand. His execution, just the idea of it, brought her an uncommon joy and anticipation. Of course she would be the one to do it. She was the senior warden after all. She _deserved _that right.

The pair came to the end of the cell's row. They stood in the deepest part of the Barrow Deeps, reserved for its most infamous criminal.

"Illidan."

Maiev faced the cell, peering into the darkness. The sound of rattling chains and shifting weight answered the warden. A familiar excitement bubbled within her but she did her best to preserve military bearing. Leaning in close to the bars she spoke softly, allowing only the half-elf, half-demon bound to the stone floor to hear. "I killed you today, Stormrage. I killed you with my own glaive." A faint rustling was her only reply; she continued regardless, eager to enact any torture available on the beast.

"But that's a foolish thing to say, isn't it?" A small laugh escaped her throat and she was quick to conceal it. She glanced behind her but the Lieutenant either did not notice her little outburst or plainly ignored it. "I meant to say I thought of killing you, of carrying out that just punishment. That day is soon, you know. It has not been so many thousands of years that I think it too far off now." She fell silent a moment, counting the hundreds of years she had spent as his jailor.

The absence of her voice brought silence back to the trio. Naisha waited patiently for her senior warden to finish, as did the inmate. But seeing her words elicit no response, Maiev carried the conversation on to topics she knew would strike a nerve in the fiend.

"No word from Darnassus, I'm afraid. Our beloved High Priestess maintains the people well enough. But why shouldn't she? She is quite ably seen to by the great Malfurion. They say he has no equal in magic this world over. They say the Whisperwind-Stormrage child will be of the prodigious sort. Don't you agree?"

This produced the reaction she desired. Illidan wrestled noisily against his shackles, turning his attention fully to her. It seemed, she thought with growing pleasure, that with all the magical tricks the demons had taught him he was yet unable to shut out her voice. A growl, guttural and malicious in intent, echoed from the cell carrying itself up into the hall. Sensing danger, Naisha unlatched the glaive from her belt, moving to intervene, but Maiev waved her away.

"No, no, Lieutenant. He is as harmless as a sprite darter," she laughed, almost giggling in her delight at his pain. Slowly, Naisha returned the glaive to her side, bringing the latch up but only fastening it loosely. The warden's sudden change in perspective set her on edge and though her erratic behavior alarmed Naisha, it was uncommon enough to allow the Lieutenant and her Watchers to feign ignorance. Even so, she still felt it her duty to protect the senior officer in these rare moments of mental disconnect.

"But, Captain, you mentioned earlier–"

"Hush now, girl," Maiev hissed. She stared intently into the cell's darkness, her cheeks nearly touching the thick, enchanted bars that separated them. If she stood still enough, she felt she could set her breathing at an even pace with that of his. Quick, syncopated inhalations followed by slow exhales underwritten by weariness, as if the simple act of breathing were the greatest labor. Perhaps after years of immobility they were. Where did he look now? He wore a length of cloth around his eyes, if they could still be called so. No doubt the arcane energy, swirling in place where eyes should have been, allowed him sight in even these dark conditions. But knowing those eyes saw her mock him, saw her expression set in perfect smugness, was not enough. She wanted all of her senses filled with the pervading aura of his anguish.

"Leave us, Lieutenant." She gave the order without looking, or even turning to Naisha. Instead, she kept her full attention on the cell's darkness, waiting for its inmate to move into the dim light provided by a magically muted sconce at the end of the hall. The junior officer bowed her head, turning on her heel to leave the pair, jailor and jailed, at the corridor's end.

As the sound of boot heels faded into silence, Maiev removed her gloves; she needed her hands free to exact the sort of punishment she planned. Of late, she had increasing trouble contacting the Goddess of the Moon. Perhaps it was her long departure from Temple rituals and prayers that kept the Mother Moon's spirit from gracing her. Maybe it was her close proximity to the damned souls she guarded. At times she had to spend hours coaxing the Goddess with pleading and promises—ones she had little intention of fulfilling—for simple blessings or the healing of minor training-inflicted wounds. In fact, the only time Elune saw fit to aid her without copious amounts of begging was during her sessions with Illidan. She felt an uncontrollable gaiety swelling within her—but that would not do. Elune might hesitate if she found glee in the vessel claiming to do work in her name. Spreading her hands before her, Maiev allowed herself a quick smile before setting her mind to the resolute necessity of the unhappy act she was about to perform on this poor creature. After long years of practice, feigning the emotions were almost second nature to her.

"Shall we, demon?" His fear was almost palpable, as was fitting for creatures of his kind; they deserved nothing less than retribution through pain. The touch of Elune's light no longer comforted the elf-demon, as it had when he was a younger, a whole night elf. Its embrace burned his skin, the radiant brightness of it scorched his eyes, and its magnetism kept him from looking away. In these moments Maiev cherished her training as a priestess of the Moon Goddess. Outside the Barrow Deeps, when hunting Darnassus's criminals, she rarely used that training. But here, here with the light-fearing demons, nothing was more precious to her save what wielding that power allowed her to do.

"Elune, Goddess of the Moon, bless your servant," she began. She had learned over the years that the words or their order were not so important. What yielded real results was the intent of the priestess. Elune would not grant power to corrupt; she was a Goddess of cleansing. Maiev wanted to do nothing more than cleanse the abomination before her. To scour the soul of this betrayer until nothing remained but bleached-white bones would satiate her more than the Feast of Winter Veil come early.

Soon, her face was flushed, a balmy sensation running from her chest to her finger tips. She closed her eyes as the warmth and comfort began to show itself outwardly. Starting as a faint glow, Maiev urged the light to intensify and consume the darkness around her. The soft glow of Elune's presence eased itself out of her, flowing through veins that did not exist, until halting just inches from her skin's surface. Minutes passed and the priestess, fearing that this might be her power's extent, sent one last plea up to the Goddess. For the world's healing, she begged, for the purification of this lost soul, and for defense with which to protect herself. Elune acquiesced.

Suddenly, light flooded the hall and the connecting cell before her, bathing everything in reach in a divine luminescence with Maiev as its brightest point. She could hear the mingled sounds of searing flesh and clinking metal, punctuated by notes of shouting and pain. It was a sweet melody. Without opening her own eyes, for she often found the light too bright after so long below ground, Maiev let her wondrous joy escape her at last. In bursts that resounded back up the passage behind her, the warden let loose her laughter. Anxious that it might end, that the light might recede and spare the demon, she pushed her power's will even harder, her laughter doubling with each renewed effort. With the pitch of her exhilaration reaching levels reserved for banshees, and drowning out even the cries of the deceiver, Maiev could do nothing but throw her head back and let the unabated delight flow from her in piercing peals of laughter.


End file.
